This blog was going to be my way of helping you, my children and grandchildren, to deepen your sense of roots by helping you get to know your more recent ancestors and their stories, “the good, the bad, and the ugly” as I wrote in my first blog. Judging by your overwhelming response to my blogs (sarcasm runs in the family, remember) I wondered why I was writing it, and for whom? Know your audience, the all-knowing ‘they’ have declared! And that audience, at least for now, isn

I was no more than seven years old when my father waltzed me around the basement of our house in Camp Gagetown, Oromocto, New Brunswick. One – two – three. One – two three. Around and around our basement floor, he spun me and lifted me, with one strong arm around my waist and a big warm hand wrapped around my little one. Maybe that’s where I learned my love of dancing. But what I most remember is how special I felt.   When I love someone, really love them and feel a deep conn

In my previous blog, we left your intrepid ancestor as he was driving towards an army enlistment centre in Sherbrooke, Quebec. He had...